


Claims

by Marquise



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Adultery, F/M, Jealousy, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 19:55:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1097980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marquise/pseuds/Marquise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Petyr can be a jealous man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Claims

“ _Quiet,”_ he hissed against her neck. Petyr’s hands were already tugging at her skirts, trying to draw them up. His voice was thick with lust and drink and had a sharp edge to it that Sansa was unaccustomed to. It raised both desire and fear in her, the two emotions feeding off of each other until it was impossible to say which was the stronger.

In the days when she was his daughter they had danced around each other, neither daring to cross the thin line that separated what must not be and what they desired. The line had disappeared with her wedding, when it became clear that there were no more barriers that must not be crossed, and with it Petyr’s claim on her only grew. He no longer hid his jealousy, nor his need to possess—though, as of yet, he had not taken her. Fear seemed to hold him back, but the combination of Harrold’s hands on her and the drink seemed to have cured him of that.

His hand had made its way under her skirts by now, warm fingers sliding over a trembling thigh just above her stocking. Below them her husband drank with his men but there was no telling who would be listening at the door. The Eyrie had its own brand of spies.

“Do you think I enjoyed watching you tease him?” he muttered in her ear, his voice tight. Sansa swallowed, the jealously palpable and exiting for reasons she could not say. One hand grazed her shoulder and then down against her bodice, fingers dancing over the swell of a breast. “Do you think that Sansa?”

“I don’t.” Her mouth was dry. “Petyr, please…” She did not know what she was begging for—for him to leave, for him to take her, for him to forgive her. All she knew was that she  _begged._ Petyr laughed, low and bitter in her ear.

“Please?” His fingers made their way up to the apex of her thighs, sliding over her soaked smallclothes. Sansa’s heart raced, her breathing growing more and more erratic, her hands gripping the desk in front of her as she instinctively pressed against his searching fingers. “Please what, sweetling?” The endearment was wicked on his lips; Sansa closed her eyes.

“I…” Whatever she wanted to say after that she couldn’t. Petyr’s clever fingers slid inside her smallclothes, his mouth  _tsk_ -ing as he slid the pads along her soaked and wanting folds.

“What? You don’t mean to say this is all for him?” For emphasis she pushed the tip of his first finger inside, the small penetration making her gasp.

“Surely not,” he continued, his teeth nipping just behind her ear. “Because he’s not here, and look how  _wet_ you are. My little wanton.” He caressed the word with his tongue as he pressed into her more, making her take two of his fingers, thumb resting against her sensitive nub.

“Or were you wet for me? Even when you spoke to him?” With soft hands he moved her hips back, skirts pushed up further. “I saw you looking at me.”

Her face felt hot with shame and desire. Without waiting for a response Petyr hooked a finger into the crouch of her smallclothes and slid them down, far enough to reveal her bottom. She whimpered slightly at the exposure, at his sharp intake of breath. Looking up at him behind her shoulder, Sansa’s lips parted as she took in the look in his eyes, locked as they were on her drenched cunt.

He heard her soft sounds. Returning her gaze he smiled cruely and began to work on his laces with one hand, the other holding her firmly in place. “I think you need to learn how to not be such a  _tease_ …”

She watched him spill from his breeches, her eyes wide as he moved over his shaft with a practiced palm, allowing her to get a good view of his size. And then he positioned himself, not wishing to hold back any more. She was ready for it, welcomed it with a soft cry. The thick flesh taking her, as it had done so often in her dreams. He stained and soiled her body just as he had before with her soul, drawing the noises of a wicked woman from her lips. Petyr took her with hard, even thrusts, his cock stretching her in ways she had not expected, his fingers surely leaving dappled bruises on her skin. He pulled her tight against him with each thrust and she met him, their heavy breathing and the hard smack of their bodies nearly echoing in the silent solar, Petyr oddly wordless as he took what he always wanted.

Despite the harshness of his movements, the possessive nature of it all, and the shame of her current position Sansa found herself eager and needy, her own hand soon drawing a shameless cry from her as she tightened around him. The act was dirty and quick and hard—not at all what she had expected from her dreams, but far from unpleasant.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hissed, to word breaking through their odd silence as she came around him. He managed to pull from her tight cunt before he spilled within her, knowing he could not, but as soon as he left her she felt the spurt of his seed against her lips, the thick streams of it sliding down into her smallclothes. Gripping the desk tight, body recovering from her own broken climax, she wondered what she must look like.

His fingers were playing over her lips, teasing her. “Little slut,” he muttered, seeming to confirm her fears, but there was affection in the tone, and when he drew her back to her feet it was for a kiss that held in it more need than she had ever experienced.


End file.
